


Salvation

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, John Lives, M/M, Major Character Injury, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: There were no trees outside the hospital where John woke up, only endless hills with corn swaying in the breeze.  But Harold had found him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



There were no trees outside the hospital where John woke up, only endless hills with corn swaying in the breeze. But Harold had found him.

The first thing John had seen when the bandages around his eyes had been removed had been Harold‘s hand resting on the crisp white sheets. He knew he had to be changed. He wasn‘t even sure how he was alive, or even if he was alive at all. Perhaps this was the afterlife, or something like it. And the world was giving him a glimpse of what he wanted to see more than anything else, his own idea of heaven. His thoughts were slow, like a rolling wave at sunset in winter when the water was half-frozen. 

This could be a stimulation, like the ones Shaw had described to him, in clipped words and rolling her eyes when he‘d asked her. The air smelled like antiseptic and extremely strong floor cleaner, even if he was inside a private hospital room. There were no guards at the door, and the only thing he could see through the widow on the door were the heads of EMT‘s and doctors passing by.  
Moving his head turned out to be almost impossible, his body wouldn't obey him. The damage to his body had to be significant, at least according to the amount of medical equipment surrounding his bed and the drugs in his system. 

He could smell Harold‘s cologne, the one he‘d worn when they‘d first started working together. The one he‘d never allowed himself to wear after Samaritan had taken over and they‘d been undercover and in hiding. The faintest tendrils of hope began entwining themselves around John‘s heart, listening to the sound of Harold‘s breathing and the birds singing outside.  
John managed to move his head a fraction to the right and saw that Harold was seated beside him on a comfortable chair, fast asleep.

When Harold shifted slightly in his sleep, a small frown on his face and glasses sliding down his nose, John felt his heart lurch in his chest, the monitor beeping wildly. Harold‘s fingers shook a bit, but he didn't wake up. There were dog hairs stuck to the hem of his pants and deep shadows beneath his eyes and more grey in his hair than John had ever seen. Samaritan had take a toll on them all.

John closed his eyes, breathing in. 

Even if this was just a simulation, seeing Harold here with him, alive and well felt oddly worth it. He‘d never expected to see Harold again, not after hearing the door on the rooftop close. He opened his eyes again to see that Harold was looking at him with a wobbly smile and his eyes shining too brightly in the soft morning light.

Harold‘s hands found his hand, covering it through the heavy woven blanket and sheets. Harold’s hands were warm and he was leaning towards in his seat as if he didn’t mind the pain that John knew that position would cause. There was slight tremor in his fingers as he held John’s hand in his, squeezing softly as he was afraid to hurt him.

“Hello Harold,“ John heard himself say, his voice raw and barely audible to anyone but himself. Harold swallowed, blinking back tears. “Turns out that I’m still here, huh?”

“John,” Harold breathed, his voice shaky with relief. 

“It’s all right now, Finch” John said, trying to fill the silence and the rush in his head when it clicked that Harold was here with him and that the threat of Samaritan had to be over now or Harold wouldn’t be able to sit there in his fancy suit.

His sight faded, sleep mixed with exhaustion dragging him down into a dreamless slumber. When he woke up the sky had become dark and Harold was still sitting in the visitor’s chair, although in a new shirt and jacket. There was a small get-well card on the nightstand with a cartoon picture of a dog on the front.

“Miss Shaw helped Bear make a card for you,” Harold said, his voice soft. “I’ve been talking about your recovery with him.”  
John tried to smile, but the skin around his mouth felt tight and uncomfortable. He settled for nodding at Finch, which made the other man smile at him.

His body wouldn’t move and he could guess, through the haze of drugs, that he would never be able to pull off many of the stunts that had been a part of his arsenal before the final showdown with Samaritan. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to walk, not to mention remain useful to Harold. There had to be significant damage to his body. 

“What happens now?” John asked, aware that Harold was wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. 

“Samaritan was destroyed, as you might suspect,” Harold said, “and Miss Shaw is holding the fort in our absence, along with Bear, of course. You will have to stay here for some time in order for your wounds and bones to heal and to gain back the strength you lost after all those surgeries-“

“Then it’s back to work?” John asked, trying his best to sound casual. “For you, at least. I’m not sure I’ll be much use to you after this.”

“I would like you to stay with me, even if you don’t want to continue working with me as my partner,” Harold said, his voice low. “I’m not here because of how useful you’d be to me as an employee, Mister Reese. I’m here because you are very dear to me and I wanted to have a chance to see you again.”

There had been a moment, years ago when the Machine hadn’t given them any number for days and Harold had refused to stop paying John even when there wasn’t any work. When there has been no purpose.

“So you aren’t going to handcuff me to this bed and begin another job interview?” John asked, looking at Harold’s hands, which were folded in his lap as if he’d been holding back from reaching out to John.

“You’ve already got the job if you want it, John,” Harold said, sounding a bit more like his snarky self. 

“Bring me up to speed, then, Finch,” John said, hearing the relief in his own voice as he used Harold’s last name. “What have you been up to?”

Harold could have gone back to Grace. He could have left the States and started a new life anywhere he wished. But here he was, in John’s hospital room, acting like there was no other place he would rather stay in.

“Dealing with the new Numbers and teaching the new incarnation of the Machine a thing or two,” Harold said, slipping into the tone John had heard countless times in his earpiece. He could feel his shoulders relaxing at the familiar sound of Finch’s voice when giving out information. “But also doing what you asked of me in what seems sometimes as another life-“

“Hm?” John asked, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“You asked me to wait for you,” Harold clarified, tilting his head to the side. “So I put that on the top of the priority list. Everything else can be dealt with later on.”

It was as close to a love confession John had ever gotten, and Harold knew the implications of John asking him to wait for him. He’d seen the tape from the airport, he knew what that meant.

Tears slid down John’s cheeks as Harold covered his hand again with his own.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Harold said, his voice low and shaky, “and I felt that I had lost absolutely everything. But I kept walking and got medical treatment for my wounds because I had to keep going because I couldn’t let you die in vain. And then I found out that the Machine had left a contingency plan of her own that activated over a hundred Numbers who managed to save your life by some miracle-“

“You found me,” John managed to say. “And you are still here. You came back for me.”

Harold hadn’t just checked if he was still alive and then went on his way, leaving a new identity for John in the hospital database and an envelope of money and essentials in the top drawer in the nightstand. He'd stayed.

“Yes,” Harold said, “there is no need to worry. I’ll make sure everything will be all right. Just rest for now. There will be plenty of time for action when you come back to work.”

John nodded and closed his eyes, letting himself slide back into dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write some fix it fic. Everyone needs more fix it fic in their lives.


End file.
